


Four Letter word for Endearment

by Peazecatch



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel/Demon Relationship, Crossword Puzzles, Demon, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Flirting, Falling In Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Mutual Pining, Pining, Slow Burn, Wine, angel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 11:58:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21118421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peazecatch/pseuds/Peazecatch
Summary: After the Not-aggedon, Crowley convinces Aziraphale to go out and grab a drink together. Aziraphale tries to be strict with the amount of wine he takes in but sooner or later they both become terribly drunk. Never had they openly revealed their feelings for each other until then. Things begin to escalate from there, all thanks to a unhealthy amount of alcohol.





	1. Faultless

"Four letter word for a gambling city that ends with an O."

Crowley pulled his head up from where he was resting it. He was lounging on one of the bookshop's old, antique chairs. His favorite chair, in fact, the only comfortable one Aziraphale owned. Well, second most comfortable. The first, he didn't dare to sit in, for it was Aziraphale's chair, the chair that Aziraphale liked to sit in for everything. Tea, reading, crossword puzzles. There was a time when Crowley had sat in that chair in Aziraphale's presence. He was told to get out of the chair immediately. Crowley remembers the chair being pleasant. He figured that's why it was so comfortable because Aziraphale sat in it all the time. Like breaking in a glove.

But anyways, of course Aziraphale wouldn't know the name of a gambling city, he would never associate himself with the devil's game, or so that's he had told Crowley. But Crowley found gambling fun with a few demonic tricks at hand. Crowley started to filter the names through his head. "Mm, try..." Crowley thought for a second, making waving motions with his hand in the air, trying to find the name. "Try Reno." Ah, Reno. He could never get tired of the small town. It was one of his favorite places to work. People were so easily tempted, it made his job easy.

"Reno," Aziraphale whispered as he carefully filled in the blank spaces.

"Ah yes," Aziraphale said, "Of course."

"Of course," Crowley mimicked. He rested his head back on the cushioned chair, this time letting his eyelids fall close. He listened to the sound of graphite etching into paper. The sound of the eraser pressing down then being followed by the soft, swiping noise of Aziraphale's hand brushing away the pink shavings. Crowley savored these moments. It was quiet, warm, and his best friend was close by. He was comfortable. Although, he never was a fan of cluttered areas, it reminded him of somewhere unpleasant with unpleasant beings. But the angel's bookshop was just the opposite, it was welcoming and friendly. Though Crowley preferred the thermostat to be under 70 degrees rather than 74 degrees.

He opened his eyes under his shaded glasses and he rolled his head to the side, watching the angel write into the newspaper. His soft features, those rough but gentle hands, the slight blush on the tip of his nose and cheeks. Crowley kept the corner of his mouth from curving up but he allowed his stare to soften. No wonder he was an angel. Those soft, blonde curls, those china blue eyes that were so fragile and elegant. So intoxicatingly innocent, it made Crowley sick to his stomach. To be able to hold a piece of heaven in his arms would be a gift. Would it burn? Would it hurt to hold an angels hand? To bite lips? He wanted to know, whether it discorporated him or not. Seven letter word for faultless. He needed to stop, stop having these thoughts. There was no point in having them, they wouldn't do him any good, only make him more famished than he already was. Crowley didn't notice his finger scratching at the fabric of the chair until Aziraphale spoke.

"Something troubling you, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked, not looking away from his puzzle.

Four letter word for 'put on pedestal'.

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

"Now why would you ask that Angel?"

"It's just rude to stare," Aziraphale softly informed. Crowley thought he saw a hint of a smile.

Crowley made a noise in the back of his throat, struggling to find words. The angel couldn't have possibly known that Crowley was staring at him this whole time, could he? He was wearing his tinted glasses, and Crowley knew Aziraphale's focus never moved away from that paper because he was staring at him the whole time. Aziraphale always had eyes on the back of his head. Crowley decided to not say anything, what could he say?

Aziraphale chuckled. "I'm not upset, Crowley," he said, putting his pencil down and glancing to the side, "just curious."

'Course you are. "Just thinking of dinner," Crowley replied, making it sound like an invitation. Aziraphale picked up his pencil again and began writing another word. "Y'know," he continued, "We haven't been out in a while. Brigadiers sounds appetizing, don't you think?"

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and his pencil stopped moving. Crowley didn't know if he was stuck finding a word or if he was raising his eyebrow at his question. He opened his mouth to go on but Aziraphale spoke before he let his words out.

"I don't believe I've been there before," he said, this voice sounding intrigued and sweet as ever.

"Oh, Angel." The demon smiled. "How could you not? A food fanatic like you?"

"I've passed by it several times," Aziraphale replied. "Never really caught my eye."

In all honestly, it never really caught Crowley's either. He only suggested it because it was the only name that could come to mind quick enough for Crowley to sound casual. He's heard that the whiskey was strong, and he was a little interested but the more he thought of it, he didn't know if Aziraphale would actually enjoy the setting.

Crowley pulled himself up from his lounging position and leaned forward in his chair, lowering his head to try and catch Aziraphale's attention. Aziraphale could see Crowley leaning towards him in his peripheral vision and he glanced to the side. The corner of Crowley's mouth curved up and he shrugged. "So?"

"Seven letter word for 'mature'," Aziraphale announced, straightening his back and meeting Crowley's eyes. Crowley's smirk faltered. Was he trying to say something or was he really asking for a seven letter word for 'mature'? Crowley was stuck, not being able to think about a hundred things at once. Aziraphale started to smile, a small grin that grew into a wider one that was accompanied by a chuckle the more he waited for an answer. "I'm actually asking you, dear boy," Aziraphale assured. He'd always been able to read Crowley like an open book and he could tell that the question had thrown him off. A slight blush overcame Crowley's cheeks and he jested a scoff, leaning back into the chair and crossing his legs.

"Blossom," he answered.

"Mm, try again," Aziraphale said, raising his eyebrows as he scanned over the puzzle. Crowley squinted.

"Develop."

The angel paused for a second, pushing up his reading glasses. Those stupid glasses, Crowley thought. He rolled his eyes at the fact that Aziraphale still wore those things around when he didn't need to, but he couldn't fight back his smile at the thought of him wearing them.

"Bingo!" Aziraphale beamed. He leaned over and filled in the blank spaces, dropping the paper and pencil on the short table in front of them.

"Don't say that again," Crowley muttered as he tilted his head back.

Aziraphale ignored him and stood up. Crowley watched him straighten his bow tie and brush whatever off his coat jacket. Aziraphale heavily exhaled then smiled, turning towards the demon that sat in the chair beside him. Crowley looked up at him.

"So," the angel clapped his hands together. "Brigadiers, you say?"

"Yeah, about that," Crowley pushed himself up. "Jus' a lot of whiskey, really."

"What about wine?"

Crowley bobbed his head left and right. "Mmnn'yeah. Yeah I'm sure they have wine." Anything for you, Angel.

"Lovely. Then perhaps we just grab a drink instead?" Aziraphale suggested. Crowley smiled, getting lost in those cobalt eyes for a split second. Thank Satan he was wearing his glasses. He blinked hard and nodded, slightly rocking on his heels.

"Sure." Crowley smirked. "As long as you take those stupid glasses off." The demon ambled towards one of the desks to pick up his keys, jangling them around in the palm of his hand.

Aziraphale furrowed his brows. "They're neat."

"Mmhm," Crowley nodded sarcastically. Eight letter word for 'enthralling' that starts with 'C'. "Let's go then, Angel."

Aziraphale carefully removed his glasses and gently sat them down, neatly, next to the newspaper and pencil. He looked at his demon escort and raised a finger.

"Just a drink."

"'Course," Crowley idly smiled.


	2. Inimitable

Just a drink, they both agreed on. Just a drink, maybe one more, maybe two more, the cycle didn't end. This usually happened when they agreed to go out. Aziraphale would always say one, Crowley would get two, then Aziraphale couldn't help himself but to have another drink when seeing the demon indulging himself in wine. They'd been there for about an hour, maybe even more, they couldn't remember.

"Shiraz, Philip Shaw," Crowley said to the bartender. The young man nodded and grabbed a tall, thin, bottle from the shelf behind him and began pouring a deep rosewood red into a wine glass.

"Australia," Aziraphale hummed.

"Indeed," said Crowley. The bartender handed Crowley his wine glass and he took a sip. "Not my favorite," Crowley grimaced, smacking his lips. "I like-"

"Dom Pérignon," Aziraphale blurted. The demon raised his eyebrows and turned towards him. Aziraphale realized what he had just said and blushed.

"How did-"

"I remember things," Aziraphale stated, trying to ignore the burning in his cheeks and the look on Crowley's face. How embarrassing, why did he say that? He couldn't help it, he just naturally remembered. Crowley would talk about his likes and Aziraphale would keep them in mind. He thought about them always. Maybe to be able to please him one day. That's why he remembered. Or maybe he just had a drink one too many.

"I don't remember telling you that," Crowley said, gingerly, resting his cheek on the heel of his palm.

Aziraphale took a sip from his glass, looking elsewhere. "You did." As easy as Aziraphale could read Crowley's emotions, he himself, wasn't great at hiding his feelings either.

Crowley brought his wine glass to his mouth to cover the widening smirk that was spreading across his face. It was getting to that point in the evening where the alcohol began to course through his blood and his cheeks and ears became hot. Maybe that's why Aziraphale was blushing so much. It was hard to tell. But the fact that Aziraphale knew his favorite wine, made him smile, really smile. So insignificant and small, but he remembered. Crowley, himself, didn't even remember telling him. Maybe he was just getting ahead of himself. Maybe he had too much to drink and wasn't thinking like he normally does. He watched his angel's hands bring the wine glass to his lips. Crowley had to look away to keep his thoughts disciplined, especially under the strong influence of alcohol. Crowley turned forward, hand under his chin now, and sipped his wine.

Aziraphale chuckled as he brought his glass down from his mouth.

"Do you remember," Aziraphale smiled and looked at the white wine in his glass. "Remember the 1400's?" He chuckled again.

Crowley grinned and rolled his eyes. What was his angel going on about now? "How could I forget?"

"Do you remember how they thought," Aziraphale held back a laugh, "How they thought evil spirits lived in Brussels sprouts?"

Crowley snorted. "Or how they thought bees were birds?" He added on, suppressing a laugh. Aziraphale giggled. He, too, could feel the blood rush to his head now. The atmosphere of the area seemed lighter all of a sudden and his eyelids felt heavy.

"Or how about Titivillus," Aziraphale laughed.

Crowley let out a guffaw. "Oh, Satan, Titivillus! Those dim wits just didn't know how to spell," he laughed, his shoulders lightly bouncing.

Titivullus, if you aren't aware, is a demon said to work on the behalf of Satan himself, just like all demons, or so said the scribes in the early 1400's. The truth is, Titivillus didn't exist. If he did exist, Crowley would pity the bloke with the name Titivillus. But Titivillus wasn't real, he was an excuse made by scholar and scribes to cover their mistakes when errors were found in manuscripts and documents. They claimed he was the reason they misspelled their words or stuttered their speech.

The two had moved closer towards each other the more they joked and teased. Aziraphale sat straight up, with his hands collected neatly in his lap, while Crowley kept his head rested on his hand, angled towards him, with his body resting against the counter. Crowley tilted his head back and gazed at the delicate, sight before him. He listened to Aziraphale talk and casually smiled, nodding his head in agreement and understanding. He didn't want to talk, just listen. Crowley's knee bumped into Aziraphale's. Aziraphale didn't seem to notice, or maybe he did and just didn't care. He kept chatting, so Crowley decided to keep his knee there. It was probably the closest he's ever been to Aziraphale in a long time. Oh, how he wanted to just rest his head on the other's shoulder or to just hold his hands that he kept waving in the air. He wanted to be so much closer. Just shut up and hold me close.

Aziraphale laughed at something he said and it snapped Crowley out of his gaze. He knew he was drunk now. He could tell that both of them were intoxicated. Both of their flushed cheeks and slurred words complementing one another. Crowley took a sip of his wine, finishing it off for the rest of the night and turned his attention back to Aziraphale, who just wouldn't stop talking. Crowley, was usually the one who wouldn't shut up, but tonight, Aziraphale had gotten a little too carried away with his wine. Crowley rarely saw Aziraphale talk this much, and so loud. A gift only alcohol revealed. Thank God everyone else in the restaurant was just as noisy.

It was late and Crowley wanted to leave. He restricted himself from having another drink, so he felt there was no point in being there anymore. Except for talking to his angel but he could literally do that anywhere else. The park, The Ritz, the bookshop, his flat. He wanted to take Aziraphale home. That's all he wanted at the moment. He didn't know what they would do but it didn't matter to him. Would they open another bottle of wine? Perhaps get a little too close as they talked..? Crowley shook his head, subtle, so that Aziraphale wouldn't notice. Was he allowed to think like that? Would it matter? He's a demon, he can't help it.

Crowley noticed that Aziraphale's wine glass was a little more than half way full. He glanced at Aziraphale, forgetting that he was talking and that he was supposed to listen. Crowley nodded to whatever he was saying and caught a glimpse of the outside through the window located towards the front of the restaurant. Crowley stuffed his hand into one of his coat pockets and pulled out his wallet, digging through it, then handing the bartender his card. He tucked his hand under the counter and snapped his fingers.

"Hey, look, it's raining," Crowley interrupted Aziraphale, pointing to the window. Aziraphale turned his seat towards Crowley, both of his knees hitting Crowley's, and looked over his shoulder.

"Better head before it gets worse," Crowley said, sitting up and grabbing his card.

"Ah, better to." Aziraphale pursed his lips. "As soon as I finish my drink." Aziraphale turned his chair back and grabbed his glass, bringing it to his mouth but then pulling it away before it touched his lips. Aziraphale eyed his more-than-half-empty wine glass.

"Odd," he said, raising an eyebrow.

Crowley tilted his head as he put his wallet back into his pocket.

"I thought... I swear I had more than this left." The angel examined his drink. Crowley shrugged, carelessly, and stood up from his stool. "Finish it and let's go." Crowley began to saunter off, walking slow enough for Aziraphale to catch up.

Aziraphale took a swig at his wine glass and gently placed it down on the counter, snapping his fingers as he stood up and straightened his coat jacket. He didn't liked to be rushed. He planned on leaving soon but not as soon as Crowley wanted to. That was the one thing that irked him about Crowley. He wanted things done yesterday; as soon as possible; right now; instantly. Aziraphale can't keep up. He was always the delayed angel, the last one to show up. The one who was late because he got caught taking in the sight of something he passed by and taking too long savoring the moment. It was a problem, Gabriel had said. He'd told Aziraphale that he was too easily distracted in the world. But Aziraphale always questioned that, not out loud of course, but he would think about it often. Why is it a problem to watch the things around you build up and grow? To be able to see the world change right before your eyes so faint yet so profound. How could he not? Was he the only one that noticed?

The bartender picked up the wine glass Aziraphale had left behind with one hand and picked up the tip Aziraphale had miracled into the world with the other. The young man nodded and Aziraphale returned a smile, turning around to catch up with Crowley, who was already heading out the door. Aziraphale felt a little dizzy, a side effect he knew he would regret. He moved carefully out of the restaurant as Crowley held the door for him.

"Little too generous, don't you think?" Crowley teased as Aziraphale walked by him. Crowley could smell the mixture of alcohol and the sweet musk of old books emanating off his clothes. What he would give to be able to bury his head into his shoulder, breathing in the smell of candles and vanilla. Anything, he would give anything. But there's no point in giving anything when the one you want might not feel as strongly.

"It was only 8 pounds, dear," Aziraphale replied. He flinched when the rain drops fell upon his face. Crowley followed after him, fastening his pace to walk beside him.


End file.
